


Ceaseless

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Elias feeds Jon's hunger. Together, they are whole.





	Ceaseless

Jon stares out the window, not blinking despite his exhaustion. Even when Elias wraps his arms around Jon’s waist, pulling Jon flush against his chest, Jon does not waver. 

“Later,” Elias murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Jon’s ear. “You need to rest.”

His focus seems to be on Jon, his fingers pushing up Jon’s soft cotton shirt, one he commandeered from Elias, worn and too large and smelling of the faintest traces of his aftershave. But though his fingers press into Jon’s skin, tracing circles there, Jon knows his eyes are fixed on the man outside, fumbling with the key for his car. A sight Jon cannot look away from, does not want to look away from, even knowing Elias is right, that sleep clamors at his skull. 

“Why?” The man drops his keys, and Jon tenses, tries to lean forward, even contained as he is in the circle of Elias’s arms. Sleep is such a small thing. “What’s the point in waiting? I need it.” 

The man picks up his keys, staring at them like he isn’t quite sure what they’re for, before shaking himself out of it and finally getting into the car. Jon desperately tries to follow him, but the distance is too great, the heavy secrets contained within slowly fading from Jon’s reach. When he tries to pull away again, Elias holds on tighter, fingers digging into his stomach while Jon squirms against him. 

“You won’t be able to take anyone’s statement if you can’t stay on your feet.” At Elias’s words, Jon’s body betrays him, swaying and only held up by Elias’s firm hold. “And subtly will get you more than overt action.” Elias kisses the back of Jon’s neck, and Jon stops fighting, sagging against him and trying to pretend he isn’t sulking. 

“I don’t see why,” Jon mutters. “He’ll give the statement either way. Not now, since you stopped me.” He tries to twist, to glare at Elias, but the angle is wrong and though Elias is no longer stopping him, Jon finds himself suddenly loathe to pull away entirely. “But later, I’ll find him. ”

“True. But the aftermath is changeable. Is he pursued by his creepy neighbor? Or is he instead haunted by dreams he can’t explain, after telling his tale over tea, in response to an invitation from the lovely couple down the hall?” Elias nips Jon’s ear, and he shivers. “And there’s something to be said for the anticipation.”

“You always were lazy,” Jon says, a hint of fondness creeping in despite his irritation. He places his hand over Elias’s, stroking his knuckles and enjoying the way Elias tightens his grip in response. 

They lapse into a watchful silence, scanning the street for anything beyond the mundane passage of people going about their lives. The only sound is their breathing, the rustle of cloth as Elias shifts, crisply pressed trousers brushing the back of Jon’s bare calf. Elias continues to stroke Jon’s stomach, before sliding further up his chest, more reminder than distraction, assuring Jon that he isn’t alone, isn’t lost, isn’t unseen. 

When Elias finally speaks, hand stilling over Jon’s heart, it’s with a fervency Jon does not expect. 

“When the world is ours, you won’t have to wait. You can take, and take, and take until you are brimming with it, until you are beyond release. And then I will release you, only to start again.”

The world outside the window dims in the face of Elias’s promise, the fear and the desire welling in Jon’s chest, desperate to have what Elias describes. But it isn’t now, it can’t be now. Perhaps never should be, though that matters less and less. He is trembling when Elias speaks again.

“You can satisfy me, in the meantime.” 

His voice is dark, amusement curling through each word. Amusement that should anger Jon, does anger him, but all he says is, “Fine,” gasping as Elias pushes him against the window, hand slipping below the waistband of his boxers. The street is mostly empty, but that doesn’t mean there’s no one to see. 

“I thought you wanted subtly?” Jon asks, putting up a half-hearted struggle, knowing it is fruitless and happier for it.

“No one will see what I do not want them to see,” Elias replies, with an assuredness Jon no longer bothers to question. 

Instead he focused on the street, watching for anyone who might look up, not sure if he dreads it or welcomes it, as Elias’s hand slips lower, wrapping around his cock. Jon is soft, but growing harder as Elias’s fingers play along his length, teasing with touch the same way he teases with secrets, never quite enough and always too much. Against his arse, Jon feels Elias harden as well, but he takes no action, simply continues to stroke Jon, breath hot against his cheek. 

Lazily Jon lets his gaze slip across the street again, catching on a grinning poster promising a brighter smile. But the teeth are of no interest. He meets its eyes, and its eyes meet him. He moans as his vision goes double, no longer seeing just through his eyes but also through the eyes Elias has stolen, to watch him through the window. They seem far too wide and leering, penetrating Jon in ways he hates and desperately desires. Elias tightens his grip, and Jon looks straight ahead and sees it, the movement of his hand through the fabric, the frustrating, infuriating stroking of his fingers. As their speed increases, Jon finds himself bucking into the touch, desperate to satisfy this need even if he has been denied another. 

And then his vision jumps, and he makes a pathetic sound as Elias takes his farther afield, to where he can find what he desires. A woman followed by a laughing thing that says it is her friend. A friend, who fears that the woman has gone mad, while knowing that they are the one who sees a door that isn’t there. A lover, who wonders why everything seems to recede, and why each day the distance grows easier. Too far to ask, so Jon will take, reaching through Elias, heat pooling to a tight, hot point, focused by Elias’s eyes, by Elias’s hands. He gasps, greedily leaning into it, wanting to pull, needing to take it just as Elias promised. Feeling a figure tremble as he sees and hears and knows and—

The street is empty. Jon is empty, cock still hard in Elias’s hands, the only connection remaining the press of their bodies, and even that Elias withdraws, taking a step back as Jon turns and growls at him. He laughs, pushing Jon’s back against the window, kissing him, biting open his mouth and probing deeper with his tongue until despite it all Jon can do nothing but melt under his touch, hot wax burned too bright and too long. 

“Patience,” Elias says, cupping his cheek, thumb swiping under his eye. “I promise you, I’ll make it good. But now you need to sleep.” 

His other hand slides up Jon’s back, tracing patterns into his skin, mapping the knobs of his spine as Jon slowly goes pliant, eyes finally drooping shut. Distantly, Jon notices that Elias is lifting him into his arms, carrying him to their bedroom and setting him gently on the bed, which dips beneath the additional weight as Elias settles next to him. The minutes tick by, and Jon drifts while Elias runs fingers through his hair, a balm for the weight in his chest, hot and hungry. When Elias gets up, Jon makes a noise of protest, one that’s stopped with a kiss and a murmured promise that Elias will return soon, that Jon has done so well, that Elias knows he can wait a little longer. It’s enough to mollify him, the part of him that resents how easily he gives in growing smaller each time. When he breathes again Elias is gone, but the scent of him lingers, old books and aftershave and absurdly expensive cologne worked into the fabric of the sheets, never quite fading no matter how many times they’re washed. 

Jon’s dreams are never peaceful, but they are restful, and later comes with brighter eyes and shadows spreading across their living room, their unfortunate neighbor sitting across from them, a cup of tea in his hands. Jon sips at his own cup, the bitter warmth coating his throat, the chip in the rim biting at his lip. It’s an expensive blend, green with a name Jon never remembers. One Elias buys, and always complains Jon lets steep too long and too hot. But Jon likes it this way, and likes more how it means the man quickly sets his cup aside, unpleasant taste only increasing his desire to tell his story. 

“Is something wrong?” Jon asks, while Elias rubs approving circles into his hip. He’s tucked against Elias’s side, calm and waiting for his signal, knowing despite himself that Elias is right, that restraint is warranted, if he wants to avoid the judging stares of all their neighbors. And Elias himself makes Jon appear smaller, less of a threat, a younger man with an older lover, a minor scandal at best. 

So when the man begins to spill his statement, he does so thinking he’s found a pair of sympathetic ears. Jon feels a distant pang, knowing the true cost, but it’s dwarfed by the weight of what he is providing, half-pleasure and half-terror, rising to a climax as Jon’s eyes flutter briefly shut, before he smiles and thanks the man. When the man makes his excuses for the growing sickness in his gut, it’s Elias who stands to escorts him out with a kind word and a handshake, leaving Jon sated on the sofa. Elias does not return immediately, instead taking their cups to the kitchen, washing up and drying his hands on the tea towel Jon had left crumpled on the table, before pointedly returning it to its proper place. Only then does Elias return, tugging Jon to his feet and returning an arm to his waist to guide him into their room.

The removal of clothing is a rapid process, one Jon complies with happily, skin still tingling pleasantly from the statement, sparking with memory at each brush of Elias’s fingers. When Elias pushes him onto his hands and knees, he makes a noise of protest at the breaking of eye contact, one Elias shushes. 

“Wait and see,” Elias says, as if Jon could do anything else. As if he wants to. 

The snap of a cap, the clunk of the bottle, and then Jon hisses at the slide of Elias’s cock, still too large even as relaxed as he is. But satisfying in its own way, igniting at the base of his spine, each thrust pushing him higher as his cock hardens at the anticipation of what Elias promised. Each snap of Elias’s hips drives him deeper, eliciting short, cut off moans from Jon, until he bottoms out, folding himself over Jon, and covering Jon’s eyes with a hand. 

It crashes over him like a wave, as Elias shows him not the statement, but Jon as he took it, the hectic light in his eyes, tongue darting eager across his lips. And Elias’s pride and desire and fear, fear of Jon, the tantalizing chance that Jon might one day turn on him as well, the battle of wills that might follow. As it overwhelms Jon, Elias shudders and comes, teeth digging into Jon’s shoulder, pushing his pleasure into Jon, the sight of Jon taking him, the thought of someone watching through their still open window. Watching, and knowing Elias owns Jon entirely, and not knowing that Jon owns him. Jon follows with a cry, and Elias laughs in genuine delight, pulling out and turning Jon in his arms, kissing him tenderly as Jon clings to him, wanting to stare into Elias’s eyes forever, but struggling to keep his own open.

“Sleep,” Elias says, and Jon feels it against his lips, feels it thrumming in the back of his eyes. “And I’ll watch you as you dream.”

A promise that should bring no comfort, but it does. Jon will fall, knowing there is no one to catch him. But also knowing Elias will never look away.


End file.
